


Just A Dream

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Mirrormask (2005)
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a dream, she knows it is. Maybe because it's a dream, she can allow this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Dream

It's a dream, she knows it is. Maybe because it's a dream, she can allow this.

Valentine is taller than her, and he is much thinner than Helena expected him to be once the oversized shirts and jacket come off. He's only in his mask now -- his face, he says, it's really his face, and nothing like hers. It is easy to slide out of the black lace and satin, to take off the skin that the Dark Queen wanted to push her into. It isn't her life, isn't even the Dark Princess' life. It's a fiction that the Dark Queen created, one that she can't let go of, no matter how hard everyone tries to make her.

Helena is in front of him, facing a wall that is nothing but mirror, which was surprising. Valentine's hands are warm and dry on her stomach, sliding over her skin. His mask feels like skin, tan and purple against her ear and hair. His breath is in her ear, tickling her, and his hands keep her still as he looks her over. "I don't see any marks on you," he says in a low tone. His fingers dip lower, below her belly button, and Helena shivers in his hands. "She didn't leave a mark on you. She only covered you up." One of his hands slides low, teasing the dark curls between her thighs. He doesn't touch anything else just yet. "I told you," Valentine says quietly. "You're vulnerable without a mask." His other hand cups a breast, fingers brushing across her nipple.

Her breath is fractured, and Helena arches backward into Valentine's touch. "Then give me a mask," she whimpers, her hands clutching his bare thighs. He isn't unaffected by this; she can feel his erection at the base of her spine twitch in response to her words. She tilts her head forward with effort, catching his eyes in the mirror with hers. He's watching her closely, his lips parted and tongue just touching the edge of his lip. He looks like he wants to taste her, to catch her pebbled nipples on his tongue and suck on them like berries.

"I don't know where masks come from," he tells her, his voice a little rough around the edges. He wants her, oh how he wants her, but he's taking his time and he's being slow about it. Helena pushes back against him, her bare bottom against the tops of his thighs. Valentine makes a soft sound and then pinches her nipple lightly in retaliation. "Naughty girl," he murmurs, accent flowing like honey across her ears.

"Give me more," Helena commands, moving one of her hands to his. She pushes his hand lower between her thighs, to that place she doesn't ever dare touch when it's light outside. _Someone will see, someone will know,_ she always tells herself. Someone at some point told her that good girls don't do this, that it's not polite or something she should ever want.

Then again, good girls also don't go on missions for Queens they barely even know, or run off with strange men (and really, who's stranger than Valentine?) or get their hearts broken when it looks like those same strange men are willing to leave her behind.

No, Helena doesn't want to be a good girl anymore, not if it means being shut up tightly behind a mirror where no one will ever see her again. This is a dream, and she can do anything in dreams. She can redefine what it means to be good, and she can have Valentine touch her in all the secret places that he's not supposed to touch and still have it be okay.

Or, more than okay. His touch is light and feathery, ghosting over her skin and hinting at all there is to come. "Are you very sure?" Valentine asks, laughter in his voice. It's almost as if he knows she doesn't do this, she isn't the type to snog or shag boys she barely even knows. Then again, they had run all over the city together, and he had saved her from the Dark Queen. Helena likes to think that maybe he planned it, that he wanted to trick the Dark Queen.

"I'm sure. I'm very sure," she tells him, pushing his hand farther between her legs. His fingers scissor over her nipple, making her gasp and writhe within his hands. It's a very wanton look on her face, and this has to be dirty, to be watching what he's doing to her in the mirror. But it's making her so very wet, seeing the flush rise across her skin, the jut of her hips against his hand. It's working between her legs, and she can feel his touch inside of her and then up against her clit. "Valentine," she whines, not sure what she wants to say. "Please," she says finally, as he pulls at her nipple. It's not rough, not really, just enough to get her gasping and tilting her hips to his touch.

His arse is curved and smooth beneath her other hand, and Valentine groans when she squeezes. "So you like this?" he asks, as if it's not obvious.

Helena laughs, tries to laugh, her breath fracturing as he pulls at her and pushes his fingers deep, the hell of his hand grinding against her clit. He works her hard and fast, and then she tries to clutch at his cock behind her. Twisting her body makes him hit some spot inside of her that sends her reeling, and he does it again. And again. And once more, until she's screaming and writhing within his hands, so very wanton in the mirror. He bends her over, has her grasp the edge of a chair. She can see herself in the mirror so clearly, the flush in her cheeks and her panting chest. His fingers glisten with her juices when he pulls them out of her, and he licks them slowly. Valentine savors the taste of her, and Helena gasps, eyes wide with need.

Valentine pushes into her slowly, and she can see the muscles in his body stretch taut. She licks her lips and grips the chair tight, watching him slide in and out of her. This isn't just fucking, she knows; his gaze is too intent on her for that, his touch too reverent. He is thick and full inside of her, stretching her, hitting that spot he had touched with his fingers. She gasps, her entire body rocking with each thrust.

He comes with a shout, hands tight on her hips. She can see the strain in him, the release working him loose. He slides his hand along her back slowly, breath slowing down. "Helena," he whispers.

She wakes then, sticky between her thighs and with the ghost of Valentine's touch on her skin.

Perhaps it isn't just a dream after all.


End file.
